Crispin is Smart

It took us most of the morning to track along the edge of the Scorched Grove to the south until we found the frog-shaped rock.

As we approached, the overwhelming heat of the Grove seemed somewhat tempered. Even the wind cooled to a light breeze and the ground underfoot was only warm rather than hot to the touch.

“It’s not so bad here,” I muttered at one point.

“Maybe this is all just part of a natural cycle,” wondered Crispin. From its perch on top of Crispin’s pack, Glenda rattled its bones in what I could only assume was agreement.

“From what we now know about the Aspect of Fire, I think that’s a bit of a stretch,” I said, but left it at that.

How stupid would we have to be to mistake an obvious catastrophe of magical origin for the natural cycles of the climate of the Wood?

---

We found the rock around noon. It was surrounded by ash, in a small depression near the southern edge of the Grove, just as we had been told. But what we weren’t sure of was what to do next.

“We have to present the Skyleaf,” said Olive as she surveyed the area. “But how?”

Around the rock were four small stone pedestals that, to my eye, aligned with the cardinal directions quite well. They were no more than Olive’s height and each had curious designs etched in their surfaces. All of them looked old and weather-beaten, but the northernmost pedestal was in the worst condition: it had cracked down the middle.

We walked around and examined them one by one.

The broken northern pedestal was inscribed with fractured geometrical shapes; the eastern with rushing wind motifs and tumbling leaves; the southern raged with jagged flames; and the western with rough waves and rumbling storm clouds.

“Let’s see—” I began, but it was already too late.

Crispin had gone directly to the eastern pedestal and placed a sprig of fresh Skyleaf into the bowl-shaped receptacle. As soon as the leaf touched the stone surface, there was the thrum of magic and a brutal wind sprang up in a dome around the pedestal. Crispin and Glenda were knocked to the ground and pummeled by the buffeting gale.

“Hold on Crispin,” I said, forcing my way into the dome of wind and covering him with a wing.

“We’re in this together!” sang Olive encouragingly from outside the dome, safe from all danger. “Fill yourselves with all the strength that Babson has!”

Helped by my protection, and Olive’s song, Crispin and Glenda staggered out of the dome and I followed slowly behind them, still sheltering them as best I could while the wind lashed at my back.

As soon as we stepped out of the dome, the wind stilled and vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Crispin dusted himself off.

“That one doesn’t work,” he announced. “Next pedestal!”

“What?!” I cried.

Crispin was already approaching the southern fire pedestal. I didn’t fancy getting my feathers burned off, so I ran and tackled him to the ground. He made a surprised “Oof” and went down like a bag of rocks.

“Let’s think this through, Crispin,” I yelled as he struggled to get free.

“I have thought this through,” said Crispin. “And as the leader of the Defenders of Alderheart, I am out of other ideas.”

“Look at this,” said Olive, interrupting our wrestling. “There are words on the frog rock.”

Of course, it would have been too easy if the words were in a language we could read. It took Olive and Crispin a good half-hour to translate the four lines into something they were happy with. Crispin insisted the text also contained some sort of polenta recipe, but I couldn’t see how that would have fitted on the plaque.

“Here,” said Olive, wiping her brow. “It’s a poem. This is as good as it gets.”

The cycle of nature is death and rebirth,
Forests to ashes and ashes to earth.
Stand in the compass and your proof there deliver,
To the cleanser of forests, the sapling’s life-giver.

“You made it rhyme,” I said flatly. “Was that really necessary?”

“Sometimes it’s important!” Olive said irritably. “At least we didn’t do the whole backstory of the recipe.”

I decided to keep my beak shut.

---

But I couldn’t keep it shut forever.

“No, no, it’s obviously not going to work,” I said wearily. “If we all stand this far back and let Glenda place the Skyleaf then none of us ‘stand in the compass’.”

Glenda’s shoulder bones sagged, and it put down the Skyleaf.

“If we think about this calmly, we need to stand between the pedestals and put the Skyleaf in ‘the cleanser of forests’,” I continued, inspiration striking. “It’s wildfires that cleanse forests, so that would mean the southern— oh no.”

“Oh yes!” Crispin clapped his hands together in delight. “It was I that solved the riddle!”

“Before we even read it…” said Olive.

We let Crispin place the Skyleaf atop the southern pedestal. There was a rumbling of rock and the pedestals retracted into the ground, swallowed by the ash underfoot. At the same time, a small hill pushed up above the surface and revealed an empty door frame containing stairs that led down into darkness.

“Let it be recorded,” said Crispin with well-earned pride, “that Crispin is smart!”

---

Down the steps and into the dark, we found a round chamber carved from shining volcanic rock. It contained a large bronze disk, etched with runes, at its centre and four alcoves surrounding it. Three of the alcoves contained large stone statues of Raptor birdfolk. The three stood in heroic poses but the fourth alcove held only rubble.

I touched the disk cautiously with one claw. A single light gleamed in its middle, but otherwise it did not react.

“What now?” I wondered aloud.

“Maybe Plume should take the place of the missing Raptor,” suggested Olive.

I stepped into the fourth alcove and held up my arms to match the pose of other statues. The statues moved and pointed inwards towards the disk. But nothing else. I stepped out of the alcove and the statues returned to their original positions.

“Hello in there,” said Crispin to one of the Raptor statues.

The statue did not reply.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Crispin continued defiantly. “How do you do?”

Crispin reached out a paw to touch the Raptor statue and the inevitable happened. Perhaps it was the age of these dusty relics. Perhaps it was unbalanced from its previous movement. Perhaps Crispin was too strong for his own good. In any case, the statue tilted slowly to one side, then with increasing speed toppled and crashed into a shattered heap in the alcove.

A second light lit up on the central disk.

“Is this part of the Tenders magic?” I asked the others. “If these statues seal away the Borealis then perhaps we need to break them to proceed. Should we smash them?”

“That’s been the answer so far,” said Crispin.

Olive and I drew our weapons and brought down the remaining statues. They crumbled into pieces in their respective alcoves, and two more lights lit up on the central disk.

“And now?” I asked.

Crispin stood confidently on top of the bronze disk. He beckoned us forward to stand next to him. We crowded onto the disk together.

“Down,” said Crispin.

The disk made a clanking sound and began to rotate clockwise like a screw drilling down into the earth.

By the Amaranthine, Crispin was good at this.

---

The disk deposited us in a second larger chamber, lit by the glowing flickering light of hot magma flowing through it. We found ourselves on an island of rock at one end of the cavern which was linked to a second island of rock on the other side by a rickety rope bridge daringly suspended above the coursing magma flowing beneath.

“Well that seems straightforward,” I said.

Crispin frowned. “This is confusing.”

After a brief discussion, we agreed that we should cross the bridge to get to the other side. But, in the interests of safety, Crispin decided that we should send Glenda across first. Just in case.

“Listen, Glenda, you’ve got this,” said Crispin. The skeletal figure trembled, clicking its bones together and backing away from the rope bridge. But Crispin was resolute. “Glenda, cross the bridge.”

The servitor nervously stepped up to the edge of the rock and looked back at Crispin with dark empty eye sockets. Crispin nodded and pointed across the room. Glenda turned back and took a tentative leap out onto the first wooden plank of the bridge.

A wall of flame, like hellfire, burst up from the lava and flared through the gap between the rock and the bridge. Glenda was caught directly in the middle of it and the inferno tore through the magic holding it together. Before we could do anything, there was nothing left of the little servitor but a wisp of smoke.

Crispin stared at the space where Glenda had been.

“Well, Glenda turned out more useful than I expected,” I said approvingly. “But I have to say I’m glad that’s the end of that.”

Olive made a sound like the start of a rap song.

We tried a few more ideas to understand the magic a bit better. Olive threw a stone across the bridge; but no flames. Then a second stone to be sure; no flames. Then a stone wrapped in Skyleaf; no flames.

In the meantime, Crispin wriggled out of his armour and approached the edge of the bridge apprehensively.

“Plume, could you hold his tail?” asked Olive.

Crispin and I looked at her, scandalised. We agreed that a rope would be more practical, and appropriate. I took hold of the end and Crispin prepared to take a cautious step out onto the bridge.

There was a whoosh of air as the wall of flame leapt up between the planks again, just barely scorching Crispin’s paws as I yanked back on the rope and pulled him to safety.

“That was lucky,” I said, letting out a relieved breath. “We’re not trying that again.”

But Crispin had a clever look in his eye.

“Glenda wasn’t confident either,” he murmured.

“Certainly,” I agreed. “At least, not anymore.”

“So maybe…”

Before we could react, Crispin stepped out boldly on to the first plank of the bridge. Then he took another confident step. Then another. No flames.

“How does he do it?” I asked Olive.

We grimly set ourselves to the task, forcing the image of Glenda’s immolation out of our minds, and with sure-footed confident steps across the rope bridge we crossed safely to the other side.